Harbinger
by TopRanking
Summary: After the loss of her mother to terminal illness, Bella finds that not only is she able to see Death made manifest, he seems to be stalking her with a predetermined purpose of his own. Edward & Bella. AU, mature, future lemons.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER FOR THE ENTIRE STORY: I own none of the basic story foundations used to create this work of fiction. All credit goes to Stephenie Meyer, author of the Twilight series.**

**A/N: Don't ask too many questions, I don't have too many answers. Some of the language is triggering? Everyone has their limit and while I'll remain as vague as possible, violent language or details of violence and gore might not be someone's cup of tea. I truly understand. Also, any mistakes in grammar are intentional and therefore aren't mistakes. It's some stylized writing I'm trying out, some symbolic shit that's up to you to decode.**

Chapter One

The Harbinger

in a sea of tempestuous gore

there was a voice

a quiet sliver of sun and sadness leaking through a boat floating on the surface of it all

.

i almost lost my mind that day, trying to find her

wading through the wretched and the prayers

she called to me even when there were massacres in my mind like roaming bison

there was no sound that could quiet her

.

stifle her

.

smother her

.

i stood next to corpses and lifted souls onto their feet

paid extra attention to genocide that day, counted the dead in my head like sheep that could never make me slumber

snapped limbs

crusted coagulated blood

but

still

.

still

.

i thought for sure i was losing my mind

consuming insanity for this siren song

until my wandering and my internal shrieks found her

.

a small house that looked tired and retired

quaint and homely and all the things the small towns of america are known for

when the wind blew me in the house seemed to gasp and lean away from me

its entire foundation sulked in despair

its creaking steps threatened to give way if i did not leave

but i just wanted to see

.

see the woman who was traveling the world with me

see the woman whose voice was also stuck in my throat

and what did i find?

she was a mere infant

a pink faced thing with a sweaty forehead and hair stuck to her blushing skin

i looked to her mother, a soft boned person with a frazzled appearance

she was cooing the crying child in the most delicate whisper she could manage

even i strained to hear the lullaby that was the girl's name on her lips

.

bella

beeeelllaaaaaaaaaa

buuuuuulllaaahhhhhhhhh

.

but she

this mother

with tired eyes but all the energy in the galaxy for her infant

she didn't possess the voice

she wasn't the package tucked beneath my picked bare rib cage

she wasn't the sliver of

sun

and sadness

tugging at me from across the world

dragging me like a skipped stone across a pond

.

her daughter was


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Isabella

So this is how you lose her.

In a warm, sun-filled bedroom with thick generational quilts and an elaborate wrought iron bed frame. Lose her; the afternoon sunlight is orange and yellow and wide awake, very energetic in the way it washes over her body though it's leaving, making way for the moon. You always thought it would be winter when her heart gave out. When you would imagine her last wheezes and gasps for air, when you would imagine your hand encasing hers, prayers floating above your heads like hot steam and smoke, it was always either January or February or early March. Those months were brutal - at any moment you expected the call while at school. Your phone was always fully charged, your shoelaces always tied as though you could run fast enough to reach her, to make her remember that you needed her and that your heart was attached to hers, beating violently and desperately and that she just _couldn't leave you -_

But this is how you lose her. In September. In the fall, your favorite season. In the guest room in your rickety house. With Charlie outside the bedroom door, crying his eyes out as quietly as he can manage. _Is this okay? _You want to ask her. _Is this how you imagined going? Is this all living up to your expectations? Are you going kicking and screaming or hand in hand with the reaper?_

"Bella," she whispers softly, squeezing your hand with all her remaining strength. You rest your head on her heart and listen to its sluggish beating, its lazy thudding. "It's okay. It...really is."

She always knows.

Your tears are leaving soft stains on her bright dress and such a small inconvenience nearly makes you dry heave on her broken body. You don't want to do this. You never wanted to do this.

"Char...lie..." she breathes tenderly, like a shriveled butterfly wing on a breeze. And he comes. Your father, a solemn bear of a man, comes into the bedroom, his eyes red and puffy and swollen with grief, his hands trembling like you'd never before seen. A myriad of images blossom in your mind: your father's hands and how they lifted you into the air and turned you into an airplane for fun after school. Your father's eyes, always downcast and overshadowed by thick unruly eyebrows that intimidated the boys in middle school, made them stay away for fear of his hairy wrath.

You don't look him in the eye and you know that you never will again. You want to forever remember the eyes of the man who fell in love with his high school sweetheart and married her as soon as they graduated. You want to forever remember your father's eyes, tired but twinkling with the flames of old and new love fusing together, blending harmoniously to produce a tiny pink faced girl named Bella Swan. You don't want your father's grief stuck behind your eyelids at night. Nor do you want to be the girl in the quiet house with the widower police chief. _You never get what you want._

And so you look out the window and stare directly into the sun, glaring at it as it sits on your mother's windowsill and watches her die.

"Renee." your father says, says it like it's water on his parched tongue. Your eyes burn from your refusal to blink. A part of you wishes that you would lose your sight right here and now, that the blazing red sun and your mother's withering body would be the last things you'd ever see before the eternal darkness. It'd be nice. It'd be safe. But it won't happen and your heart is racing down the cliff of your mother's chest, attempting to catch up with hers before it crashes to the bottom. "Bella. She wants you to look."

Should the last thing your mother experiences before death be your defiance?

Before the idea can take root and fully form in your head she grabs your arm with an incredible grip. The urgency of her fingers, the crisis in her bones, it flows avidly into you, making you nauseous and hyperactive, so frantic that you want to run as far and as quickly as you can until your feet bleed.

"I always tried to protect you from him," she sobs and when you look up at Charlie and see the confusion etched in his crow's feet, you realize that this is something meant for you and you alone. You always felt your mother's secrets in her hugs and kisses and now that her arms were empty and her lips too dry, it was time to fold them up into a prayer and push them into your ears. "And when I knew...this day was coming...I told myself that I'd tell you everything..."

"Renee, what are you talking about?"

There is this soaring.

A glorious rising that's beginning in your blood and saturating all your tissue with a mixture of dread and relief.

"I couldn't tell you Bella..." she cries harder, your mother, and you throw yourself onto her body and bury your face in the crook of her neck, your cheek rocking with the pounding pulse beneath her skin. The time has come. "And now... he will..."

"It's okay." Charlie is dumbfounded as you squeeze your mother tighter, attempting to transfer this sensation of ascension into her spirit the very same way she alerted you of her panic. "I forgive you... for whatever."

Charlie reaches beneath your body, just beneath the hard lines of your ribs, and locks fingers with his wife's hand. Their collective knuckles dig into your body as she fades, blurs away like an ink blot in a bowl of water, her heart giving out, her lungs deflating, her omnipresent exhale that washes over you like a wave.

There is nothing but this.

This moment in time.

This brief and permanent exodus.

This, forever, in a temporary world.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Lily.**

Chapter Three

The Harbinger

an exhale

the kind that is special

the kind that someone makes before their soul leaves their body

the kind that sounds like a burning hand being plunged into antarctic waters

i heard it, from across the continent of north america

standing on the rooftop of a new york city recreation center

watching an old man give in to his heart attack

i heard the exhale

the one i'd been waiting for

for eighteen years

and i began to run to her

.

some souls do not find comfort in my embrace, no matter how soft i manage to make myself

i break my bones and pulverize my flesh to make room and cushions on my body

but it is natural, only natural, to be uneasy around me

natural to push away at my all consuming embrace

still

renee swan was especially fierce

and her voice was loud inside me as i stood on the roof and pulled her through the ceiling

.

"i didn't tell her"

.

"i was afraid to tell her and now it's too late"

.

"you're going to ruin her"

.

"i raised her just so you could ruin her. raised my only child like a lamb for slaughter"

.

i had hoped for her transition to be quiet and soft

i took care in kneading my flesh for her

but she wouldn't rest

her soul was in a frenzy

firing off memories like sparks from a dead campfire

.

_me, an old and translucent specter _

_standing in the doorway of bella's nursery_

_watching her sleep_

_my hands, itching with the instinct i've come to embrace_

_a life, no matter how young or old or soft or hard_

_i always yearn to hold each soul in my stomach like a dimly lit candle_

_but renee somehow saw me_

_with the eye of her soul_

_she woke from her sleep_

_and came to see me leaning over the crib_

_and no matter what form i possessed to please her_

_she saw me for me_

_she saw me for me and she saw that i had come to take her little girl_

.

"_get __**away **__from her"_

"_**get away from my daughter**__"_

.

i explained to her why i was there

why i couldn't just leave

why this was an inevitably painful thing for all of us

and her body deflated like a punctured lung

her womb scraped itself clean before my eyes

as though it was making way for the reentry of this tiny sleeping child

as though she could hide her daughter inside of her

_as though that could stop me_

.

"_how long can this wait"_

_._

"_how long does she have"_

_._

"_am i allowed to tell her?"_

_._

"_is there no other option?"_

_._

"_take me instead"_

_._

her eyes tried too hard to bore into mine

to make me feel what she was feeling

she didn't realize she was looking for something i did not possess

.

"_i'll do anything"_

_._

"_just not bella"_

_._

i had given her a time and a day

and while i swept over the world, i wondered if she had remembered it

do humans care to remember the day they're bound to die?

do they hold on to such certainty?

i couldn't remember

i imagined that she would want to forget

that she would go back to sleep once i'd left

and when she rose with the sun she'd chalk up the stuttering of her heart to a wondrous nightmare

and though i was curious

curious about renee

desperate to know more about bella

i waited

and i avoided the west of the united states as though it were the cliff of the planet

.

though i've felt it numerous times before

it's still unnerving, how a mother's soul can be drenched in the essence of her child

.

_bella_

_young_

_a toddler_

_pulling grass out of the soft ground in the backyard_

_covered in mud_

_sweating_

_gurgling softly to herself_

_._

_bella_

_her hair long and curled at the ends_

_dressed in a pale yellow cotton dress_

_sitting on her wooden front porch while her father makes feverish phone calls in the kitchen_

_she can hear vague things such as "i promised her" and "well can't it wait"_

_but she's mesmerized by her own disgust_

_poking the slimy stalks of a snail just trying to get by_

_wiping the fluid on her dress_

_shuddering each time but unable to stop_

_._

"_what do you want to be when you grow up mommy?"_

"_i'm already grown up bella"_

"_you never stop growing"_

"_well then. i supposed i want to be you bella. i want to be just like you"_

"_well that's dumb, i'm nine years old and you're like... sixty"_

_._

this doesn't happen often

they usually quiet down after they wander into me

the blizzard of memories and wishes usually occurs before they die

it is not the norm for me to see such a whirlwind up close

and so

i appreciate the chance

.

_a long limbed girl with a small pouch of a belly_

_pale skin like a backlit cloud_

_standing naked in the mirror of her bedroom_

_frowning_

_poking at the red pimple below her cheekbone_

_blinking frantically_

_like she's concentrating on flying away_

"_i wish you could see how beautiful you are"_

"_mothers are supposed to say that"_

_the girl turns and runs her hand over her hips_

_down_

_down_

_over her behind_

_cupping her flesh and deepening her grimace_

"_tell me what is wrong about you"_

"_no, you won't understand"_

"_i was thirteen once"_

"_that was a long time ago"_

"_i won't say a word, i promise_

_i just want to listen_

_to understand what goes on beneath that head of hair"_

_a sigh like an opened can of soda_

"_my butt sags_

_i have stretchmarks on my lower back_

_my legs are too thin_

_my feet are really big and clumsy looking_

_my boobs are too small_

_my eyes are too wide_

_i practically have a unibrow_

_i want to start to shave_

_i want to get my eyebrows done_

_everyone else is cleaned up_

_plucked and pruned_

_they looked like polished versions of themselves_

_i wanna look like that_

_i don't want to be this_

_it's like they're flowers_

_and i'm a weed_

_my body is a mess"_

_._

_a hospital_

_too many bright lights and sanitized surfaces_

_that clinical smell that lingers on the air like burned incense_

_renee lies in bed_

_tired_

_aching_

_the treatment took a lot out of her_

_blood and plasma and hope_

_but she is there_

_eyes closed but ears open_

_while bella talks_

"_i know you're listening_

_mike newton asked me out on a date_

_i like him so much_

_i wanted to say yes_

_but jessica stanley likes him_

_i think i might go with tyler crowley instead_

_he's cute too_

_and he said i have eyes like chocolate gemstones_

_i think he's a poet_

_i want him to write things about me_

_this is the problem_

_this is why i hate myself, i'm so greedy_

_i want them all_

_i want them all to want me mom"_

_._

"i'm sorry bella"

.

"please forgive me"

.

"i was just too afraid"

.

"saying it out loud made it more real"

.

i want her to go

and she wants to go

we both feel it

but only one of us is resisting

.

"before i go, i want to tell you something"

.

"i am a mother"

.

"and that means i can make even death cower in fear"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Isabella

Funeral arrangements are old and tired things you want no part of. Ever since your childhood you'd seen no point in long, drawn out ceremonies dedicated to people who may or may not be listening, who may or may not be in a permanent state of nonexistence. You hated the frumpy black dresses your mother would make you wear and you hated even more the way she'd style your hair, a single fish braid down your back. No matter what you did, that single fish braid managed to make you feel seventy years old or worse; like _you _were on the verge of death yourself.

Charlie had buried Renee quickly and quietly, although the town protested; they all wanted to pay their respects and show their appreciation for Renee's kindness and presence. She had presided over the town as somewhat of an unofficial pageant sweetheart, popping over at the local restaurant for cheesecake and chocolate milkshakes, volunteering as a guardian for elementary school field trips and sometimes partaking in illegal substitute teaching when too many teachers were absent. But Charlie is bitter and you know this, you feel it when you look at the right side of his face everyday as he drives you to school. You feel that he's angry and bitter and he wouldn't want to see the couples of Forks surrounding Renee's casket, mourning but holding hands, thanking God, counting their blessings...

And you're grateful for his bitterness because it protects your own. You wouldn't want to be at your mother's funeral either. All eyes on you, her living replica, her quiet and somber doppelganger. Mothers and daughters alike watching your face for the grief they already know is there, somewhere deep and moist. It happens enough when you go to the supermarket or when you open the door to the pizza delivery boy because you've had no desire to cook for the past three weeks. He knows you by nickname now, asks how you're doing and one time he even wrote his number on your pizza box just in case you wanted to talk. Later that night you let a piece of pizza crust sit in your mouth until it tasted sugary while thinking about what Renee would say about him. _"Well, he's cute and you're cute Bella, why not see where it goes?"_

Charlie begged you not to go back to school but there was no way you could stay in your house without losing your mind so that was a battle easily won. All you had to do was cruelly remind him of where Renee died and he relented immediately: on the condition that he be allowed to take you to school. Now you have to sit in the cruiser with him and passively aggressively play music on your ipod while watching the lush green trees whiz by through the window. He doesn't talk, just glances nervously in your direction once or twice the entire ride. It's comforting in an equally depressing way; you can feel your heart leaning on your father for support, frolicking in the new presence he's attempting to establish in your life now that your mother is gone. You wish it wasn't therapeutic to sit in silence with him outside the school for ten minutes before hugging him and heading off. Heading off. To Forks High School. Where your mother's death and its effect on you is the only interesting thing to talk about for seven hours.

Things are different at Forks High now. Everyone you'd grown up with watches you from a distance like you're a dying animal; you're a dangerous poisoned tigress to them, one who could lash out at any moment. You sense that they're silently screaming at you when you're walking through the hallway, frowning at your textbook, but you just don't care anymore. You can't find anything to care about anymore. Tyler Crowley sometimes sits with you at lunchtime when the stares and glances are especially vicious, sometimes holds your hand and whispers poetry in your ear, but he knows it's not the same as when you could go to the hospital and tell your mom everything he'd said. His words are just dead weight on your brain now, you can't afford to love anyone nor do you have the energy to. No words of his could ever heal you. And you want to open up to Tyler, you want to tell him your ribs feel cracked and your legs feel numb but there's no way to do any of that when your mouth feels like an open wound, a bathtub full of hot blood. Everything is overflowing but no one is there to see it or understand it and so you've shut the door and closed your eyes.

It's okay.

Last year around this time, around October, you were shiny and golden and hopeful. Your mom was managing a faint cough, she was only a little out of breath, not _too _tired. She had chalked it up to a cold or the onset of a flu and stocked up on orange juice and grapefruit. Last year around October you were beautiful, or at least you felt beautiful. Your hair was finally behaving properly against the omnipresent humidity, Tyler was by your side every day before Latin class, Mike was sending you secret texts that you never answered but appreciated nonetheless and Ben was leaving notes in your locker. You felt wanted. You felt like your prom prospects were looking strong and that you were no longer the dowdy gangly thing you still sometimes nightmared about. Lauren Mallory could no longer call you an ugly duckling, not when her boyfriend was stealing glances at your ass whenever Tyler walked you to class.

Now? You're a war. Or rather, you're a beautiful country ravaged by skirmish and disease, riddled with hunger and thirst and death, _death. _Death underneath your fingernails, death in between your toes, death under your armpits, no matter what you do, it's a grime you can't wash off, it's a fever you can't sweat out. You're a walking battlefield to these people. No one can bear to come near you, not when you wear your bloodshed on your head like a crown. You smell like loss. You reek of loneliness. Your stitches have come undone and your wounds are gushing pus.

It's okay.

After school you decide to send Charlie a quick text, telling him that you plan to go to Jessica Stanley's house for a game of Scrabble or whatever the hell the kids are into these days. Of course you plan on doing no such thing, but you need Charlie to think you're feeling better. It's nearly been a month and he's been making casual references to a shrink he's been thinking of sending you to. This cannot happen. You cannot pour your soul out to a stranger who's most likely going to prescribe you a sleeping aid and a cup of tea every morning. Besides, you're a Swan and the mark of a Swan is to bear your cross alone.

You plan on taking a long walk to the supermarket to buy cake mix and a can of vanilla frosting. It was the most productive and rewarding thing you could think of all day and you plan on carrying it out with determination and diligence. Just to be safe, you buy a bottle of water from the cafeteria vending machine before heading out, walking across the parking lot with your face set in a deep frown to ward off any potential company. Of course, a frown never kept Tyler Crowley from checking up on you.

"Where ya headed Bella?" He increases his pace to match yours, completely ignoring his parked van a few yards away.

"To the supermarket." you reply curtly, gripping both your backpack straps and taking larger strides.

"Hop in the van, I'll drop you off."

"No thanks, I'm fine." He frowns and slouches his back to get a better look at you. Tyler is almost six feet four inches, towering over your five feet six inch build.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I've got some baking to do and I forgot some ingredients so I'm gonna take a leisurely walk." You know he's going to be the kind of guy to bring up how hard things must be for you and how you still have to have a sense of self-preservation so you stop walking immediately and look up at him, right into his deep brown eyes. You take his soft brown hand and give it a small squeeze. "I'm _fine_. I just need to think. I feel better today than most days actually." Tyler searches your face for any sign of facetiousness. Or perhaps he just wants a reason to openly stare into your eyes. You don't mind but you keep your emotional distance. You don't let him see the filmy depression deep in your irises, it'd be too much for the both of you. Tyler's gaze relents and you flash him a fake but placating smile.

"Okay," he murmurs, reaching for the keys in his pocket. "Have a good walk. I'll call you later to check on you and you'd better answer."

"I will, I will." And you trot off towards the black winding road, zipping up your hoodie and bringing your hood over your head.

The weather today is typical for that of Forks, chilly but humid and wet. The dirt that leads into the forest on the side of the road is soft yet crunchy with bits of tree bark and branches. You take deep breaths as you walk and in between them you open your mouth and tongue the air, swallowing the chill into your stomach. You want everything to cool you down to the core. You want to tire yourself out and leave no room for nightmares.

The nightmares. You've been having them ever since you began going back to school and even though you chalk it up to high volumes of stress and anxiety, you can't help but recall Renee's various superstitions. No black cats, no walking under ladders, no hats or scissors on the bed, no overturned salt, no broken mirrors. Over the years she began to collect protective religious symbols from various faiths and cultures, from the Christian cross to the hamsa, no matter how much you and your father tried to convince her of how culturally insensitive she was being. Renee didn't allow you out after dark, nor were allowed to listen to anything heavier than alternative rock music. Now that she's gone, Charlie made a point to remove all the religious symbols from each doorway in the house. He had told you that he believed Renee thought the symbols would help her fight her chronic illness, but you didn't think that was the case, nor do you now. Renee's nature was more akin to a deer fleeing its predator and she had never been afraid of her illness. The symbols and superstitions were protection, but from what?

You can't even remember what your nightmares are about. When you wake up, you're drenched in sweat and fear, yet chilled to the bone and still you can't figure out what terrified you so much. Before long you began to stay awake as late as you could, dreading closing your eyes and opening yourself up to the horror. Being unable to remember a thing made it worse; perhaps if you could recall some small fact you could convince yourself of your idiocy during your waking hours. But without any hint as to _what you're afraid of, _the night, the darkness, anything lacking light just seems so... dangerous.

Raindrops begin to fall from the sky, smacking you on the head through your hoodie. You grimace. You hadn't thought to check the weather forecast and now by the time you reach the supermarket you'll be soaking wet and in no mood to do anything but take a nap. You pick up your pace but with each quickened step the rainfall gets heavier and heavier until suddenly it seems all of Forks has been engulfed in a flash flood. A deep panic breaks out in your chest, feverish to the point where you begin running, sloshing through your baggy wet clothes and breathing heavily enough to see your breath. Something hurts. Something hurts and it takes a moment before you realize _you are in pain._

_At least no one can see me cry, _you think as you stand stock still. You clench your eyes shut and try to fight back the tears, if only because it makes your eyes puffy and ugly and your nose red as a bowl of blood. But the rain keeps on pouring and your bleeding heart gets too heavy to bear and before you know it you're punching your thigh and sobbing to yourself. Anger isn't the right word to describe what you feel. For the first time you understand, _you embody, _the word 'wrath'.

_God is laughing at me. _A loud cacophonous scream of thunder slingshots itself from the mountains and slams into the clouds above you. _See. I'm a fucking joke. _All the worship your mother committed to. All the prayers and the symbols. The good life she led. What did it all mean and what was it all for? She died in a quiet bedroom in complete and utter agony, she cried until she reached oblivion. The only reason you even believe in God is because there has to be some entity in existence to have concocted such a cruel joke. You open your eyes and wipe your sopping wet face with the back of your sopping wet sleeve, silently pleading to be delivered of your hurt. This feeling that hasn't gone anyway since Renee's passing; that you're drowning in lukewarm water. The feeling that nothing will ever be okay and you'll spend the rest of your life with a jagged broken bone impaling your heart.

The walk through the rain gets better as you get closer to the supermarket. Your brief lapse in strength gets pushed to the back of your mind as you focus on the flavor of icing you want on your cake and how Charlie will be pleased to see you back in the kitchen, even if it's just to bake. A cooking Bella is a happy Bella is a happy and well fed Charlie. The daily pizza routine is doing no favors for either of you. After half an hour of walking and murmuring to yourself, you reach the end of the winding road and come to an empty intersection with a green traffic light. You want to cross the street seeing as how deserted the area seems, but with the settling fog you don't want to chance it and end up steam-rollered by a truck. You swipe at your eyes continuously as though your sleeves are windshield wipers and wait for the traffic light to change color.

Mid-swipe you notice him.

You can't believe you hadn't seen him before, but he seems to have slithered out of the fog and into existence, an insidious snake in the form of a human pillar. He's tall, as tall as Tyler, perhaps taller; you can't tell with him being way across the intersection. Though he stands straight and strong, his aura seems to be slithering across the street towards you, slimy and dark and cold. On instinct you retreat, stepping backwards with your eyes glued on this frightening stranger. _My... nightmare..._

He reminds you of your nightmares.

_Isn't this ridiculous? _He's soaking wet from head to toe, just like you but he seems unperturbed by the rain sliding down his face in thick streaks. He's wearing a white long sleeved thermal and a pair of black jeans, coupled with a pair of black sneakers and a wristwatch but it strikes you as an acute facade. Phony. Fake. Everything about what he's wearing is off putting but you can't seem to figure out what he'd normally wear, what he'd seem more _natural _in. Perhaps his entire existence is unnatural. The thought doesn't strike you as odd or harsh.

His body is thin; slightly bony and angular in a way that makes him look a bit starved. You can see every outline of his form thanks to the wet flimsy shirt he's wearing in the cold rain. You internally scold him as Renee would: _"You'll catch your death out here!"_ As your eyes travel from his collarbone to his face you see that his cheeks are hollow and his cheekbones are high, giving him a haughty appearance. His skin is as white as bleached bone and his hair, slick and stuck to his face, is the color of diluted cranberry juice. You wonder who this guy is and how come you've never seen him before. You've spent your whole life in Forks and not once have you spotted him or anyone like him.

_Foreigner._

_Traveler._

_Nomad._

All of these titles run through your mind but the one that sticks the most is "_dangerous_". He's dangerous, this man. You glance at his eyes and see that they're trained on you, fierce and obsidian and sucking you in. Somehow his eyes make you feel as though all the air has been sucked out of the universe. In a single intense moment everything is vacuum packed and you can't breathe. This _is _your nightmare. This is what you've been afraid of. This man is the vague killer in your dreams, forcing you awake with chills all over your body and a scream stuck in your throat.

You run.

It comes as second nature to run. You barely blink, barely consider another thought before you turn and run in the same direction from which you'd walked. Your legs move of their own accord, loud and slightly clumsy but effective enough to get you away from him. As the overwhelming atmosphere of his aura fades further and further into the growing distance, you acknowledge with a cold dread in your stomach that he could have followed you if he wanted to.

And worse: he could have caught you if he wanted to.

You don't think about why he didn't, it might give you a panic attack. Rather, you dart across the dirt path and into the woods, navigating like the home-bred Forks girl you are. You didn't want to risk the danger of falling and hurting yourself in the forest but it seems necessary now, a much safer route than the one you had previously chosen. As you get farther away from the man (is he really a man?) and closer to the supermarket, your insecure nature begins to convince you of your own overreaction. Perhaps you were just shaky and paranoid due to your previous breakdown. Maybe your nightmares are putting you on edge. How could you have gotten so afraid so quickly? Nervous? Acceptable. Uneasy? Sure. Afterall, you were alone on a rainy intersection and you did acknowledge that you'd never seen the guy before. He could've been out to hurt you. But the terror you'd felt wasn't the normalized terror any woman would feel alone and around a strange man. You felt reduced to an animal, you felt driven on pure instinct. It wasn't any kind of fear you'd felt before; not more intense or more powerful, just _different. _An alternative emotion you'd never felt because you were never presented with a situation so unique.

When you reach the supermarket and begin browsing the aisles, you feel very different, even though the luminescence and uniformity of the place comforts and calms you. Shivering as you walk past the frozen goods section, you get the urge to cook meat instead of baking a cake. Your mood no longer calls for cake and vanilla frosting but rather beef; steak, burgers, something of the sort. You want red meat in your mouth, between your teeth. You feel visceral and hacked up but energized and ready for a fight. You hadn't planned on buying steak though, so you settle instead for some chicken thighs and drumsticks. Charlie will be even more pleased. Actual meat and not the tiny slivers of sausage and pepperoni he's been downing for the past month? He'll probably dance and clap his hands upon your return.

Unfortunately, after attempting to make baked chicken while full of thoughts and wants and fears, you burn dinner. You should've known better. You were swollen with grief and anger and aggressiveness, your mother always recommended you cook in a good mood. That fucking stranger ruined you and ruined your food.

Another pizza night for police chief Charlie and the crazy Swan girl.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The Harbinger

from the moment she spotted me across the street

watching her

there was nothing more to say

out of habit i stood still and watched her assess me with a keen eye

perhaps because she'd experienced loss so recently she saw me right away

or perhaps she's just Renee's daughter

but her instincts honed in on the threat of my proximity so well

it'd have been foolish to approach her

frighten her more than she already is

still

i had to fight the urge

.

so much time under my belt

so much time and experience

all the world's expirations inside me and around me

dust made of human bones

necklaces of teeth

lampshades of knitted hair

yet

nothing has prepared me for approaching a young woman

so used to remaining under the radar

the thought of introducing myself to her seemed unfathomable

she is pink faced, even in the rain

dark haired but full of life

she reeks of earth's organicity; her blood smells of tulip dew and honeybees

she doesn't yet know why she was put here

she knows nothing and wants to know nothing but how to heal

.

i am not here to heal


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Isabella

You wonder about proper protocol although you already know the ins and outs of it. You're the daughter of the town's police chief. You're aware of how to formally approach the subject and with whom the issue will be taken up with.

Charlie Swan.

Should you decide to notify the police of your situation, your father will be the first person contacted and put on the case. Not that another officer couldn't handle it, just that they'd be asking for trouble by not informing the _police chief_ that** his daughter** _is being stalked._

Sitting at your desk in the school library, you twirl the strands of your meek hair around your finger, frowning to yourself. He'll probably be waiting outside the school. Watching you from across the parking lot like yesterday.

And the day before that.

And the day before _that._

You've been putting in extra hours at the library and telling Charlie it's just studying to keep up with your advanced classes. He senses a lie but perhaps he hopes it's your way of getting back to normal. Maybe he believes you're sneaking off with friends, cutting loose, taking off the edge. The truth is you've been trying to derail your stalker off your trail for the past six days.

It started a few days after encountering him across the intersection during your trip to the supermarket. The fear he'd instilled in you was so strong that you couldn't even cook a proper dinner for yourself and your father. Now that fear is heightened and amplified by his regular and routine presence in your life. You thought you'd seen the last of him. You thought you could put him behind you and continue to work on picking up the fragments of your life. But now it seemed as though a giant foot, this stranger, was standing on those fragments, preventing you from recovering them.

You wonder about your father's "would-be" response to this debacle but you already know what it'd be. He'd cause an uproar; his rage alone would rally the town against this nomad. Perhaps the younger generation of Forks would be more reluctant to believe your story but you have the hearts and sympathies of every Forks citizen over twenty five. The air reeks of pity and permeates your skin. A man, stalking Bella Swan? The poor girl just lost her mother, what awful luck! This won't do! Grab your pitchforks, we're gonna mount his head on a plaque!

Mrs. Cope, part-time librarian who routinely switches shifts with the other faculty members, throws you one more withering look accompanied with the sound of her clearing her throat. That is your cue; you throw your opened books into your backpack (though you'd only had them open as props) and throw said bag over your shoulder, smiling at Mrs. Cope for putting up with your procrastination antics. She doesn't understand what's going on and most likely wants to get home to her family above all else and so you appreciate her giving you as much time as she could.

_Perhaps I should've called Tyler. _The thought strikes you belatedly, as you're already on your way to your rusty truck, jingling your keys particularly loudly to ease your nerves as the sun steadily goes down. No. You shouldn't have called Tyler. Then you'd actually have to pretend to be doing school work and that'd just be a bore. Could you explain your situation to Tyler? Would he believe you? Help you?

_No. No one can help me. No one will believe me._

You look up from your dirty white sneakers and like a low hanging fog he is there; standing at the edge of the parking lot asphalt, right on the boundary that leads to the dense and now very dark forests of Forks. He's, once again, wearing a white long sleeved thermal couple with a pair of black jeans, still looking as masqueraded as he has been for the few days. Tall and thin in a jagged way - a way that reminds you of splintered bones over a sharp rock... bits of red drenched flesh and tendons, dark marrow, gritted teeth...

_No one will believe me, no one will believe me, _you chant as you walk hurriedly to your vehicle. _And why won't they believe you?_

Because no one else can see him.

The first day you'd seen him was a slightly sunny Forks afternoon. A Friday. You'd just finished up your classes for the day and the student population was lingering in the parking lot, soaking up the sun and making plans for the weekend. You and Tyler were deep in conversation about him taking you out to dinner in Port Angeles, nothing too fancy he insisted (as if he could afford it), just something to get you out of town and away from it all. You didn't understand what he was saying. You were slightly angry at him for thinking that a few plates of spaghetti at a fucking Italian restaurant could help you "get away from it all" but you knew he meant well and so you were silent. But you thought of Renee. And you thought of how a mother's presence was everywhere and nowhere at all, always. After declining from the dinner for a second time, your eyes traveled to the streaks of light peeking through the clouds and raining down on specific spots of the parking lot edge. That was where you saw _him; _he was standing directly under the natural glow of light, his hands in his pockets, his face pale and passive and present. You stopped walking, you stopped talking and you stared at him unashamedly for a few seconds. The way the sunlight gave his skin a sickly glint while his sharp cheekbones casted shadows off the bottom half of his face. Not completely sopping wet, his hair was now the color of watered down blood - brilliant but still far too dark for his powder white skin. Still, it was like watching the lethal dance of a king cobra. You allowed yourself to be completely absorbed by his dark gaze and for the small moment you were consumed, you were actually relaxed. This was the true meaning of getting away from it all. Losing yourself in someone else's entire being. That could never happen with Tyler. Pretty quickly, unfortunately, Tyler caught on to your "daydreaming" and snapped you back to reality. He asked you if you wanted to take advantage of the light and go for a walk in the forest but you politely declined. You were frightened now. He was looking in the exact same direction and he didn't think to mention the creep standing by Lauren Mallory's car? With a quick assessment of the parking lot you noticed that _none _of the students seemed to notice him either. The back of your throat became thick with mucus and you had to swallow heavily a few times.

If no one else could see him, life wasn't looking too good.

Was he real? Was he tangible, touchable, tethered to the planet?

Were you going crazy? Was this all a figment of your imagination?

You open the door of your truck and toss your bag into the passenger's seat, wielding your key between your fingers like hidden knives. If he decided to try and hurt you, he'd be in for it. You wouldn't hold back. In fact, you felt slightly eager for him to approach you so you could dig your keys into his pretty pale skin. The creepy fucker. After closing and locking the door, you allow your eyes to trace the black parking lot asphalt and follow an invisible path that eventually led to _him. _Starting from his feet you analyze him for any slight change. This was more for you and your suspicions than it was for him or anyone else. Did imaginary characters change outfits? After realizing that he'd once again worn the same outfit, you start the ignition and peel out of the parking lot with ease. With few other cars in the way you could be as messy as you wanted. Besides, you sort of felt like you had to flee his burning gaze as quickly as your tired truck would allow.

When you reach home you see Charlie's cruiser parked in the driveway and so you park behind him before checking your eyes in the rearview mirror. Looking for signs that you've lost your mind. You grab your bag and walk into the house, drinking in the repugnant but familiar atmosphere.

"Bells, is that you?" _No, it's Renee. Turns out I'm not dead afterall._

"Who else?" you murmur, walking from the small foyer into the living room. He's already situated himself on the couch with a beer and a slice of leftover pizza. He pats the small space beside him without looking over his shoulder and you join him with a resounding sigh. Charlie no longer initiates conversation with you. You suspect he's grown tired of watching his attempts linger in the tense atmosphere before withering into nonexistence. Or perhaps he's got his own thoughts to focus on and has nothing productive to say to you. You both sit in silence, listening to the loud ticking of the clock hung above the plasma television. For a few minutes, it's comforting, allowing your mind to conform to the dull sounds around you. Your thoughts drain from you like blood and, for a few moments, you aren't thinking of the crazed skeleton following you around. Charlie takes a long drink from his half empty beer. "How was work?"

"Fine I suppose." He gives you a sideways glance and you avert his gaze, looking at the cheese dangle from his pizza slice. "You look tired," he says with a grunt. _You'd be tired too. _"Sleeping well?"

"Yeah, just tossed and turned a bit last night." You take the television remote from the coffee table before you and channel surf for a bit. To anyone outside the relationship of you and your father, this conversation is the epitome of boring and mundane. But you and Charlie have been speaking on different wavelengths since Renee died. You've had to. Neither of you were the vocal ones in the family, choosing to keep quiet and reserved rather than assertive. Renee was the bridge between the two of you and with her gone, you and Charlie were speaking from different sides of a long and wide river. "I'm gonna head to bed early after making some dinner."

"Dinner?" He perks up and tears his eyes away from the television to observe you carefully. "You up for that?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking meatloaf. You've got the ingredients?"

"Yes, of course." He jumps up off the couch like a livewire and heads into the kitchen to set up before you can change your mind. You sigh and pretend to watch the television but you're listening to him rattle around in the cabinets for seasonings and herbs. When you're sure he's absorbed in his scavenger hunt you stalk over to the living room window and pull aside the curtain. Peeking through the blinds, staring off into the trees a little ways away from your home, you spot him. Standing on the fringe, slightly cloaked in leaves and forest foliage. Even across such a distance his black eyes pierce yours. It feels like an x-ray and always has. Even while speaking to your father you're able to feel his gaze like a cream drizzle sliding down your skin. Sinking into your pores. You shudder and let the curtain go.

"Bells? What were you looking at?" You spin around and now Charlie is peeling back the curtain too, looking off into the distance.

"Nothing," you murmur, but you're staring intensely at him for any signs that he can see the specter waiting for you across the field. He lets go of the curtains and looks at you with his mouth set in a hard line.

"Nothing huh." He shrugs and walks away from you, towards the couch, remote in hand.

You've got to be going crazy.

It seems to be the only plausible explanation.

But why didn't an incarnation of Renee show up to haunt you? Isn't that how insanity works after loss?

Why this unfamiliar petrified wood looking bastard?

"Well, before I forget to tell you, tomorrow I won't be able to take you to school. Got something going on in the office; they need me to be there a little early. Usually the guys at the station take care of it so I don't have to, but this kind of paperwork really requires my eyes." He looks at you from across the room. "You'll be able to get to school okay on your own?"

You throw him a disparaging look and head to the kitchen to begin cooking.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The Harbinger

bella swan sleeps like a lamb inside a lion's den

restless

anxious

exhausted

she throws her blankets off her sweating body in fits of frustration

only to blindly search for them mere moments later

in her sleep i can see that her body is looking for a solution to the problem of my presence

.

her subconscious is taking out its irritations on anything and everything around her

her limbs kick and flail

she groans like a rusty gate

during her waking hours, her suppression skills are impressive

clearly she can see me

and i can see her

but there is a quiet stalemate between us

one that needs to be broken however

.

bella swan is soft

soft like settled seafoam and taffy in the mouths of children

she's unable to confront what frightens her

unable to cope

and because of this i am unable to make sudden movements

or quick advancements

everything about me is exaggerated and sharp

barbed wire dripping with snake venom

gunpowder and thirsty flames

i must tread lightly with this human being

and watching her sleep horribly through the night only confirms for me her hypersensitivity

.

she has no idea just how aware she is of her own peril

.

so easily i could open my body like a wide oven

and bake her flesh into nonexistence

lapping at the smoke and cinder like i've done for centuries

.

but bella swan is special

eighteen years of waiting for renee to permanently close her eyes felt like millennia and more

sifting through the sounds of crunching bones did little to drown out her clear call

she sounded like everything i'd never known i wanted

she sounded deep and hungry yet light and fragrant

her voice

a lukewarm womb for me to crawl into

steady and wet like a sluggish heartbeat

dark and intricate like greenery growing on a rainforest floor

yet spacious and alluring

hummingbird wings soft, butterfly flutters careful

carried on every breeze

encased in every raindrop

her noise sat inside me and dug its claws into my very roots

uplifted something inside me

.

looking at her toss and turn in her sleep

i don't know whether to kill her or worship her

once again

i am slightly astounded at how a girl as soft as curdled milk

could bring me

_me_

to her bedside

solemnly confused

.

i have watched her from various places all over the world

everything under the star studded sky was but a stage

for bella

i have listened to her mother read her bedtime stories from the rooftops of bengali houses

relished in her hysterical screaming at having fallen off her bike all the way from a street curb in greece

listened to her teenage tantrums from the bayous of the american south, her futile arguing echoing off the pregnant waters and dense foliage

.

_pink faced pubescent bella swan_

_pink and blue and red and black_

_heavy makeup and high hopes_

_._

"_we've talked about this bella"_

"_no mom_

_you've talked and i've listened and that's just not fair"_

_._

"_bella i said no the first and second times, i'm really running out of patience"_

_._

"_i'm not a baby anymore, i'm getting really tired of being treated like an infant"_

"_bella i have always treated you like the mature child you are and you know that_

_this is taking it to another level that neither of us are ready for"_

"_you're selfish! you told me i could try new things as i got older!"_

_._

"_bella, i'm a lot less reasonable than your mother_

_if you don't wipe that shit off your face right away we are going to have a big problem"_

"_charlie, i can handle this"_

"_the hell you can_

_i let you two have your talks and work things out but i will not allow my daughter to walk out of the house looking a clown from barnum and bailey's circus_

_not while she's living under this roof"_

"_why don't you go pick up some chicken stir fry from the diner, i didn't cook today"_

_._

"_bella i know it hurts_

_please believe me when i say i know_

_but this is not the way to get their acceptance_

_please baby, just hear me out"_

"_you don't hear what they say mom_

_you don't hear how they laugh_

_at every-little-thing i do_

_lauren told me i was gonna have the body of a cardboard box forever_

_she told me that i might as well dress like my police chief dad and join the force"_

"_yeah well __lauren is a snot nosed little brat who needs to get her fucking braces tightened"_

_._

_the profanity rolls off renee's tongue and dances in front of bella and before they can stop themselves _

_before they can remember their heated words and sharp eyes_

_they're both laughing_

_tears are falling from bella's eyes_

_her mascara runs like tar beneath the hot sun_

_._

"_don't tell anyone i said that of course_

_i'm just losing my patience with the kids that are bullying my daughter"_

"_i won't tell mom, i won't tell"_

"_bella, you have to realize that nothing you do will make them satisfied with you_

_bullies don't operate under rhyme and reason"_

"_they bully me because i'm ugly, not because i'm nice"_

"_they bully you because _they're_ ugly and they're afraid of others noticing it"_

"_are you calling other children ugly? are moms allowed to do that?"_

"_i never said i was a good mom"_

_._

_a brief silence falls_

_silence like the one left after a window is shut_

_._

"_you're a good mom, mom_

_i'm sorry"_

_._

i know what i must make of bella swan

i just don't know how to do it

the instincts i've so effortlessly leaned on are of no use to me now

my first and most dominant urge is to kill

or rather

to deliver what the world knows as death

but she was not put here for that

she was not put here to die

and that acknowledgement renders me utterly incompetent


End file.
